


Best Interests

by Lavosse



Series: Farmer Abroad [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5693710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavosse/pseuds/Lavosse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short thing for a tumblr friend--the account of Samuel Seabury's first encounter with the king. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Interests

Vaguely, Samuel Seabury remembered reading a philosophy book early in his education that talked about people who lived in a cave. What would the people experience, the book had contemplated, if they left the cave? How would they react?

Here, in this palace, Samuel thought he knew _exactly_ how they would have felt—small, in awe, and utterly, hopelessly out-of-place. He didn’t know who to talk to—and worse, he kept getting lost. In fact, he probably couldn’t find his way back to the side door he’d been admitted through. Where was he staying again?

Shit.

Suddenly the corridor he was walking down emerged onto a balcony walkway that wrapped around the walls of and looked down upon a first-floor dining hall. Sam felt like a small boy again. He clutched the balcony railing and marveled at the crystal chandelier, at how far away the first floor seemed, and how many floors there still were above him.

Suddenly a door on the far wall flew open and a man rushed out, giving an already nerve-wracked Sam Seabury no time to duck into one of the nearby unoccupied rooms.

The man was muttering frantically to himself and didn’t seem to have noticed Seabury, so the bishop crept backwards, feeling along the wall behind him for a doorknob.

“This is _idiotic._ Bloody _ambassadors—_ as if I don’t have enough on my mind—” The man was dressed fancifully in obscenely expensive clothing, although he was certainly beautiful enough to look good in anything he wanted to wear—

Sam pushed that thought away forcefully.

The man stalked down the hallway, pausing only long enough to tear the powdered wig from his head (“The damn thing itches, and I _refuse_ to wear it any longer!” he yelled back into the room he’d emerged from) exposing a head of pinned-up, wavy dark blonde hair, and eliciting a small gasp from Sam, who was somewhat appalled at such rough treatment of such a lovely wig.

Upon hearing Sam’s shocked noise, the man turned and spotted him across the overlook. “Perfect. You will do just fine,” he murmured, stalking around the balcony-corridor to the other side where Sam cowered, petrified.

“Sir,” he protested as the man grabbed Sam’s hand and yanked him into the nearest empty room. It could have been a sitting room, or a conference room, or a bedroom for all Samuel knew, because the next second he was pinned up against the neatly wallpapered plaster, and…being kissed?

Yes, his brain confirmed, that was exactly what was happening. That didn’t mean it made any sense, though.

The other man pressed his body against Sam’s with no explanation and roughly claimed his mouth, leaving him at a loss. It wasn’t very pleasant, but…it wasn’t really unpleasant, either. What was the etiquette for being suddenly kissed?

By the time Samuel’s brain caught up with his body ( _“Kiss him back, you’re supposed to do the kiss thing too, Sammy”_ ), the man had pulled away, breathing heavily. Sam remained in his place against the wall, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips still slightly parted.

“Thank you for your service, sir,” the man said finally, and strode regally out the door.

“Um, sir—” Sam recovered his wits as best he could and followed him out, only managing to catch a glimpse of the blonde man as he turned down another hallway and disappeared.

Samuel stared after him, confused and discomforted, before turning to address one of the men—they, too, looked rich, he noted with trepidation—who were hovering around the entrance to the room from which the mysterious man had first emerged.

“Good sirs,” Samuel called across the overlook, “do you happen to know the name of that man who left his wig just there? Perhaps we should return it.”

 _Perfect,_ he congratulated himself. _Very smooth._

The men collectively sneered at him, and he shrank back. _Not smooth enough?_

“Do you not recognize your _King_ when you see him, _colonial_?”

Oh.

Oh no.

Samuel Seabury gazed at the hall down which His Majesty King George the Third had disappeared, horror written across his face plainly.

Oh, _dear._

**Author's Note:**

> Might write more? We'll see.  
> I can't believe I ship this pairing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Word of Your Body](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005221) by [tooberjoober](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooberjoober/pseuds/tooberjoober)




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